


Fallen

by Eye_Of_Argonia



Category: Northwest Smith - C. L. Moore
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:59:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5472176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eye_Of_Argonia/pseuds/Eye_Of_Argonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smith fails to resist the Alendar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psychomachia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/gifts).



> References some of canon setting's ideas about gender and beauty, which the author does not necessarily entirely agree with.

“Kill! Kill!” 

The shouts broke through the waves of black madness and his mind surged up into clarity.

He raised his gun in answer, without thinking.

But he knew not what to do with it. He remembered - barely - that he had to do something in order to “kill”, but his mind remained blank. His hand stood still, his grip was firm, every finger in place with certainty, but something was missing. He tried to focus, but he couldn’t think of anything.

The sweet madness facing him - Alendar, his, no, its, name was Alendar, _the_ Alendar - smiled. At least, that’s what Smith thought it was, if things such as the one facing him had an equivalent of human expressions. 

And then the waves rose again and he sunk into them again, the screams -Vaudir’s, the girl’s name was Vaudir, and he failed her - wordless now.

He continued to struggle, though he could not remember why he did. The madness poured in once again until everything was black and Smith knew no more.

* * *

He woke in an unfamiliar room. His body rose up, alert, on its own volition, but his mind paused.

And then he remembered. Vaudir, the great beauty that devours all, Alendar - the Alendar. Not a name of a person but race, extinct but him, he said. If he - it - could be trusted. Smith reached for his gun, but it was not at his side. He looked around.

The room was simple, not unlike the other rooms he now recalled passing as the Alendar guided him, Vaudir at his side - and now the pain came. She chose him, and he should resent her, even if she was used herself, she knew, she saw the all-consuming darkness and horror that is clothed in it. Yet all Smith could feel was regret. He thought of her now, did the Alendar drink of her, or did he feed her to his creatures alive and fully conscious, was the betrayal enough for him to risk the precious vintage - and he halted in horror. The Alendar’s speech hinted at it, but the knowledge that came up was not result of Smith’s mind and experience drawing conclusions. Yet there it was, so visceral he could practically taste it. The blood. It breeds beauty and then it feasts on it, and gives the scraps to unsuspecting mortals. Yes, what he knew and himself believed, once, as most highly coveted pinnacle of beauty and charm that could be given to man were scraps in comparison to fruits of the Alendar’s private garden.

Yet to Alendar, even they were not enough. Now it desired something else. Courage, it said, and intelligence. Smith could understand that - his lifestyle taught him those lessons early. Yet his came out of necessity, while Alendar’s must have been a mere whim. He resented the creature for that, and many other things.

Then why did he feel the need to be in its presence? It was compelling him as much as it was repulsing him, a desire to get close to that madness again, to get swallowed by darkness he just returned from. 

He looked around again. He was resting on a large purple velvet divan, large enough to hold Smith’s sizable frame. He wondered if the Alendar prepared it for him. Since when did it start considering him as the next experiment? Vaudir must have asked about him before hiring him, is that when he caught the Alendar’s eye? It had to have been before Smith stepped into the palace - else he wouldn’t have passed the door to Minga, password or not. Or, perhaps, would have been let in only to be devoured by the mysterious flesh-eating guardians. In front of Vaudir, maybe? No, thought Smith, the Alendar has no need for such tactics. No sight of carnage could be worse than the madness its eyes hold.

Smith rose. There didn’t seem to be anything in the room but divan and carpets. He couldn’t even glimpse a door,though there must be one. There was only one thing that he knew with certainty now, and that was that the Alendar would not kill him until he has accomplished whatever he wants with him. But Smith had no clue as to how the Alendar intended to go about it. He presumed Minga girls were product of careful breeding, the usual way. He’d seen artificial augments on various planets, but that didn’t seem to be the case here either. How, then? How was this supposed “beauty” of his supposed to be nurtured? With Vaudir, he could see it. But, even without a mirror at hand, Smith knew he was a far cry from what the Alendar - all Alendars ever - valued. He always took that those that showed attraction to him were guided by primal instincts finding appeal in either perceived power or danger. But he would classify neither of these as “beauty”. When it came to Vaudir, her spirit could be attractive as part of the picture, one imperfection preventing the alien flawlessness. But Smith, in his opinion, had nothing but spirit. Then again, the Alendar spoke of “masculine beauty” as something different. That topic was foreign to Smith. Yes, he had seen and heard of men who he knew were considered beautiful, but the aesthetics weren’t that drastically different from “feminine”, just applied to a different form. What did the Alendar see? 

Right then, as if though to answer him, he heard a sound. He spun around and saw a section of wall moving. The Alendar stepped through, in a purple cloak identical to one Smith was given. Smith couldn’t help but feel grateful that the glare of those piercing black eyes was lessened by the cowl’s shade. Still he didn’t dare lock their gazes.

The Alendar smiled. “It looks like everything is in order. Good. There would be no point if you were irreparably damaged. Now, follow me.”

Smith obeyed. There was nothing else to do.

He followed the Alendar down the corridor filled with draped windows, not unlike the one he was led down before but not the very same. His instincts were gradually waking and so he was on alert for any potential weapon.

The Alendar finally stopped in front of a smooth, large black stone, set into a wall yet somehow seeming not linked to it. It offered Smith a hand. Smith stood still for a few moments. Then he placed his hand into the Alendar’s, as once again, he saw no other option.

The Alendar led him _through_ the stone.

* * *

The inside of the room was made of the same stone as the entrance. Smith could make no sense of the arrangement of stone slabs, aside from the obvious one laid in the center.

The Alendar removed its hood and gazed at Smith. He couldn’t look away. He braced himself for black waves, but they never came. There was something lapping at the edge of his mind, but it was soft and gentle like Venusian silks. 

The Alendar opened its mouth, but paused. Then it asked: “Do you have any questions?”

Smith thought about it. There were so many things, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. That they could even be explained in any language that could enter his ears without melting his brain. Instead, he went to what he deemed the safest option. “What became of Vaudir?”

The Alendar smiled - yes, it was a smile. “She will undergo a slightly different procedure than you. Perhaps you shall meet in the process; your respective qualities seem to affect that of the other, though your influence might be stronger. But that will come later. Anything else?”

Smith thought about it. Drinking, it mentioned. It seemed rather straightforward, whatever the matter was. Blood, soul - irrelevant. The end would be the same, him lacking strength to defend himself from the Guardians coming to devour what remains, if he’d be conscious at all.  
His indecisiveness was frustrating him. He came out alive from many a tight scrape by being fast. The instinct and reflexes helped, but so did the ability to make a split-second decision. He remembered Yarol and wondered what would the Venusian do in his place, but his mind drew a blank once again.

“No need to rush. You may ask again, next time,” said the Alendar and motioned Smith to the central slab. 

Smith made no move.

The Alendar met his eyes again. The silky touch at the edge of Smith’s mind grew in intensity, but not unpleasantly so. It formed a cocoon, shutting off the stray thoughts.

Smith moved and laid himself down onto the central slab.

As he was cocooned deeper, he noticed that the stones were not quite the same. Oh, their black was the same all-consuming that seemed to swallow all light, the same that swallowed Smith’s mind that - this? - fateful night, yet they also seemed to pulse with different colors _underneath_ the darkness every now and then. 

Then the Alendar said something again, but while it entered Smith’s ear, his nerves could not pick up a single sound. 

Smith remembered no more once he woke in the purple velvet room again.


End file.
